Mess Tent
by TakenHawkeye
Summary: A typical meal in the Mess Tent. Bad food, bad tempers, bad jokes, and a war in the backround. Will review all who review me.


"Might I sit there, Hawkeye?" Father Mulcahy asked, standing at the end of the table, one hand clutching a tray. As his free hand pointed to an empty seat beside Hawkeye, the young surgeon nodded.

"Go ahead, Father." Grateful, the man slid into the seat, opening a napkin and carefully wiping the thin layer of grim covering his utensils. "You're just in time for another rousing game of 'Guess What Dinner Is'. We've only gotten as far as this gray lump." Hawkeye prodded at the entree, wrinkling his nose as it wiggled back. Father Mulcahy stared wide-eyed at the tray before him.

"I thought it was liver."

BJ shook his head. "It's clearly meatloaf."

Hawkeye sniffed a forkful, suspicious. "It can't be meatloaf, that's usually green."

Father Mulcahy shrank away front the table, saying, "Whatever it is, I believe mine just moved."

"That's nothing." Hawkeye tilted his head towards his plate. "Mine just ate my potato."

BJ ventured a taste. His face immediately screwed up as he scrambled for his napkin. Spitting the mouthful into the cloth, he managed to say, between shudders, "Chipped beef, maybe?"

"Does it taste like cardboard?"

"No. Guess it's not the beef." BJ glanced over to where Father Mulcahy sat, hands clasped, lips silently moving in prayer. As he opened his eyes and reached past Hawkeye for the ketchup, BJ asked, "That help, Father?" He motioned his hands in prayer.

"Well, it certainly can't hurt, I say."

Hawkeye and BJ exchanged glances, shrugging. Hardly a pause and the blonde man began, "Give us this day our daily stale bread --"

"Hold the food poisoning so we don't wake up dead." Hawkeye broke in, squinting in disgust at the fork he held in front of his face.

"Watch over our souls, so we may walk in your light." BJ continued.

"Except when with nurses, in my tent at night." Hawkeye finished.

As the two men exchanged Amens, Father Mulcahy chuckled and brought a fork to his lips. As he chewed, his face began to contort and he fought to swallow.

"Coffee it is, then." He laid the fork down, sighing as he reached for his mug.

"Wouldn't if I were you, Father." Hawkeye quickly said as he began to sculpt a mountain out of what was hoped to be cream corn. "Klinger made the mistake of drinking a cup while on duty. Been in the latrines ever since."

"I see." Father Mulcahy lowered his mug.

The three men had just set down their forks, ignoring their meals, opting instead to use the time to discuss a rather difficult case in Post Op in which the solider seemed intent to dodge the war through suicide, when Radar appeared at BJ's side. As usual, he seemed to almost sprout up from the ground, scaring the wits out of BJ as he asked, "Mind if I sit here?"

BJ just nodded, catching his breath as he fetched the dull knife that had been sent clattering to ground as he jumped at the sound of Radar's voice.

"Thank you, sir." He lowered himself onto the bench, nodding his greetings to Father Mulcahy and Hawkeye who were deep in discussion. "Dinner's real good tonight, huh?" Without waiting for an answer he shoved a small pile of gray mush into his mouth. "The cook's gotten loads better, I think. The beans are great." Another forkful disappeared.

Carefully, Hawkeye muttered, "Those aren't beans, Radar. Igor claims it's fish."

Radar grimaced and pushed his tray away. "I think I don't feel too great, all of a sudden. I'll be in the latrine if you --" A gulp. "-- if you need me." Quickly the young Corporal jumped to his feet, scrambling for the door.

"Poor kid." Colonel Potter sat down on the other side of BJ, only a coffee mug in hand. "He'll be there for a week at least."

"Looking at this mess, I think I may envy him."

"You say that now, Hawkeye, but remember that night you set up camp in latrine three? Came to me begging to be shot out of your misery."

"I was delirious." He pointed to the forgotten tray before him. "Besides, a taste of that would do the job much better than a pistol, I think."

Father Mulcahy looked up from where he sat, staring deeply into his coffee. "Hawkeye, I don't think that --"

"I was kidding, Father."

"Oh, yes, well." Shifting his eyes to where Igor stood, defending what he loosely called a 'meal', Father Mulcahy began again. "It's just that Burnett patient. No amount of prayer or conversations with the boy seems to help."

Colonel Potter seemed to suddenly come to attention. "Burnett? The kid who came in with the stomach wound a few nights back?"

BJ sighed. "That's the one. He's so bent on not being sent back to the front, he's been threatening suicide."

"Nearly managed last night. Right now we have the nurses watching him constantly. I figure I'll head on down to see if a talk will do him some good, soon as he's had a bit of time to calm down." Hawkeye smacked a hand on the table before him, startling the other three men out of their thoughts. "It's just -- he's so young. Hardly twenty, and he's all set to die. We have enough killing over here, Koreans against Americans, Koreans against Koreans, Americans against Americans, now we're driving men to fight against themselves? It's such a waste, such a waste of life."

Colonel Potter sat silent a moment, thinking before he spoke. "I'll see if I can talk some sense into the boy, how's that?"

BJ nodded. "I think that'd be just fine."

"It couldn't hurt." Father Mulcahy agreed.

Reluctantly, Hawkeye nodded, picking up a fork and beginning to prod at his tray once more.

"Careful Hawk, I think you're just angering it."

Hawkeye managed to spear a bit of purple mush onto his fork, sniffing experimentally. "You know, if you let it sit for ten minutes or so, it doesn't smell too awful."

BJ threw his hands up. "That's it, the toxic gasses have finally got to him. He's having delusions."

Father Mulcahy smiled, his eyes focused across the tent to where a young man sat by himself, glaring at his tray. "Is that the new man, Colonel? Sergeant Bloom, is it?"

Colonel Potter followed the Father's gaze. "That's the man. Just arrived a few hours ago."

"Excuse me, will you? I think I'll go an introduce myself." Father Mulcahy gingerly lifted up his tray, holding it far out in front of him. "Seeing as I'm done eating, that is." A farewell tilt of his head and the man was off.

Hawkeye snapped his head up. "New man?"

"Sergeant Richard Bloom. A new orderly. He'll be working guard duty when he's not helping out with wounded."

BJ looked to where the Sergeant sat, his eyes widening. "You can't be serious."

"'Course I'm serious. Too many discharges, not enough new blood enlisting. We're getting short a few hands, we could use him."

"Look at him! He's not an orderly, he's a child!" Hawkeye roughly waved a hand in the man's direction. "I'll bet he doesn't even shave yet. He doesn't belong in Korea, not until he's through with puberty."

"Hawkeye's right, Colonel. Look at the boy, he can't be eighteen yet."

Colonel Potter took a long drink from his mug before replying, "His records say he's eighteen."

"But you don't think he is." BJ finished.

The Colonel only shook his head.

"Well," Hawkeye began, eyeing the fork he still held, "Your fears do not look to be unfounded, I'll give you that. I'll go and introduce myself tonight, Colonel, see if I can't find anything out."

"I'd thank you kindly, Pierce."

BJ turned away, standing up with his tray in hand. "What's wrong with these kids, running away to _join_ a war. Hemmingway's ruined another fine generation, I'll tell you that. Now, if you'll pardon me, I think I'm going to go before this meal sickens me any further."

Hawkeye merely grunted in response, bringing his fork to his lips. There was moment, as Colonel Potter and BJ watched, in which he chewed thoughtfully and carefully, before he replied, "Not too bad, this purple mess. A few minutes of exposure to the dry Korean air, and it's almost good."

Before Colonel Potter could so much as open his mouth to retort he was interrupted by the tell-tale cackling of the PA system. A few tests breaths, and then --

"Attention all personnel, attention all personnel. Incoming wounded in the compound, ripe for the picking. On the double men and nurses, we're in for a long haul."

Groaning, Hawkeye pulled himself to his feet. "Of course there's wounded. First time all war I think I can enjoy a meal, we can't let that last. I might start to enjoy Korea."

The chattering of the tent gave way to clattering sound of meals being abandoned as all clamored for the door, ready for a hard day's and night's work.


End file.
